


Brittle

by mag_and_mac



Series: me making tony stark sad [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Depression, Extended Metaphors, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Like, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 06:06:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mag_and_mac/pseuds/mag_and_mac
Summary: But he still put one foot in front of another, feeling just hollow enough that his steps made no sound.He would not sink. He would splinter. But not yet.He had crowned himself king of the same hill he would die on, and he had already given too much to fall.





	Brittle

**Author's Note:**

> samsung notes back at it again anyway this makes no sense but I'm in a mood^tm I'm so sorry

He was weak in a different way.

Not soft.

Not expendable. 

He didn't bow to the danger, and he wasn't struck down by the enemy's first blow.

That wasn't Iron Man. He was hard. He was metal. He rusted and bent, but he did not slouch. He was strict and forceful and radiated more power than he had.

He was not soft. 

It was almost worse, what he was. He was brittle. Tall and rigid and firm in his ways, he was a passable caricature of the strength he tried to show. He was firm and harsh but it was fake. 

Just as everything brittle, he was so quick to break. Not to decay or wilt, but crack and shatter and crumble from the very core. It was so easy to turn him to shards. To ashes. 

To dust. 

But he still put one foot in front of another, feeling just hollow enough that his steps made no sound. 

He would not sink. He would splinter. But not yet.

He had crowned himself king of the same hill he would die on, and he had already given too much to fall.

But he was still a flag flying too high. Being torn and ripped and abused by the wind that couldn't be felt back on earth. He was battered and dulled, barely recognisable as what he was supposed to be, but at least, he knew, at least he was still standing.

He was the dirt that coated the cave in Afghanistan. The dirt that covered his fingers as it did his lungs and made every spoken word hang for a bit too long.

He was plastic. Sharp. Toxic. Harsh and fake and permanent and _brittle_. 

He sucked in a breath and maybe it hurt but, then again, what didn't?

Who are you Tony Stark?

Plastic.

Dirt.

Fragile.

Brittle.

_Iron Man._

The strongest of them all.

He said it to the mirror. To the walls. To the ceiling and his hands. He said it to empty rooms and busy streets. He said it to everyone who could hear and even those who couldn't. He said it until he believed it was true. He grit his teeth and curled his fingers and he said it until he knew it. Until the voices stopped whispering over his shoulder and until the roads stopped screaming and until the gauntlet was on his hand and he could breathe again. 

_"I am Iron Man." He said again, to dust._

And he crumbled as he had always done. This time less temporary than before. But he was the noblest of them all. 

"I am Iron Man," said a flicker. And it was true.

He was Iron man.

The suit of armour around the world.


End file.
